


My Gut Is Full Of Rot

by JasperIsAFanboy



Series: The Afternoon Light Cuts to Size [15]
Category: Blood Drive (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, a whole boatload of unfortunate ocs who absolutely don't survive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 02:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14864645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasperIsAFanboy/pseuds/JasperIsAFanboy
Summary: Or: Heart never should've made Rasher a monster.





	My Gut Is Full Of Rot

**Author's Note:**

> normal brain: attacking ur enemies urself  
> expanded brain: siccing ur pet dinosaur on them  
> ascended brain: siccing ur monster bf on them
> 
> title from another darkest of the hillside thickets song, 'worship me like a god', bc apparently i'll just keep borrowing titles from them until i run out ¯\\_( ツ )_/¯

Sunset stretches long across the horizon, the sun at their backs pulling their shadows out before them like taffy. A breeze rustles through the long grass at their feet, chilly against the skin of Rasher’s bare shoulders and arms. It doesn’t cool him in the least, he feels far too overheated for even the most frigid wind to cool him down. He twitches each time Julian’s fingers brush over his spine as he unties the corset, each time the laces whisper against his skin as they slip from one grommet to the next. Julian is murmuring encouragement into his ear, close enough that when a touch just above his sacrum makes him shudder, Rasher feels his shoulders knock against Julian’s torso. Julian pulls the cord free of the last grommet and tucks it safely into the pouch at his belt, slips the corset itself from Rasher. Rasher inhales deep, arches his back. The maw lets a few tentacles out, testing and tasting the air, twisting slow at first but then with increasing urgency. It gives a quiet roll of sound, something neither quite a purr nor exactly a growl.

 

Julian settles his hands atop the sharp wings of Rasher’s hips and presses close. “Are you ready?” he asks. He traces Rasher’s exposed ribs with a fingernail. “Are you _hungry_?”

 

Rasher only nods. He can’t speak; it’s taking all he has to keep the maw under control. It’s not hungry—it’s _ravenous_. He’s been starving it for the past few days at Julian’s request. But Rasher knows, the maw knows, that food is only yards away, and the maw is desperate. This time it does growl. The lips open wide to reveal the jagged, uneven teeth behind the tentacles. Julian chuckles, low and smooth. He presses his lips to Rasher’s neck, just above the collar, and smiles.

 

“Then go have some fun, my dear monster,” he says. “I’ll see you at sunrise.”

 

Rasher turns and pulls him into a deep kiss. His self-control is almost shredded. Hunger spikes hard from the maw, making Rasher growl and bite Julian’s lip hard. Julian moans into the kiss, which now tastes of iron, and breaks away. His grin promises more blood in the future. He gives Rasher a gentle shove with one hand as he licks his bleeding lip. Rasher lingers for a moment, then turns and heads down the hill, at the base of which sits a small Heart research station. It’s mostly unguarded, no perimeter fence keeping away the curious, no AKI waiting in the shadows to dispatch any intruders. It was chosen specifically for its isolation and its lack of security. As far as they know, there’s only one guard outside the door, another within. Rasher’s pace quickens until he’s full-on sprinting, the maw’s hunger ramping higher the closer he gets. He can feel his spine lengthening.

 

Julian watches from the crest of the hill, a vicious grin splitting his face. He wonders if Rasher realizes just how beautiful and terrible he is like this, his hands clawed and burned-black like his belly, his spine stretching fit to tear through his skin, his eyes gleaming like lamps in his deep sockets. Julian considers following him to watch, but decides to hang back; he’s been eaten once, and he has no desire to repeat the experience. Rasher wouldn’t recognize friend from food right now.

 

A scream splits the air, cut off sharp as one of Rasher’s own knives.

 

Julian laughs.

 

-

 

Their terror tastes _so sweet_.

 

After the first guard screams another comes running, his belt undone like he was in the middle of taking a piss. He squints into the dark, the smell of fear-sweat leeching into the air at the cracking and crunching noises coming from the shadows. His breathing is fast, wheezy, as he fumbles the Maglite from his belt and flicks it on. He doesn’t have time to lift it before the thing in the shadows launches itself at him, all spindly spider limbs and writhing grasping tentacles and teeth. The Maglite flies from his hand, its beam whirling, giving nightmarish glimpses of the thing holding him: eyes flashing like a cat’s, spurs of bone jutting from torn skin at the thing’s shoulders and elbows, the all-too-human face. He shrieks in agony as tentacles wrap so tight around his arms that his bones break. He tries to fight, tries to brace his feet against the ground, but the tentacles lift him high enough that his feet kick ineffectually. He shrieks again when a bony hand wraps around his neck, just before it chokes him into silence. After a moment, it snaps his neck. He goes limp.

 

The tentacles haul his unresisting corpse to the maw. More wrap around the dead guard’s shoulders and ribs. They constrict mercilessly until the bone is pulverized; the body would be too big otherwise. There’s enough intact bone to crunch as the maw devours him.

 

Rasher comes into the light spilling from the double doors. His elongated torso, bent forward, has grown two more arms, smaller than his natural arms (themselves stretched to inhuman lengths) but strong, close to the maw. Tentacles spill like intestines from the maw. They twist and writhe, lifting like the heads of snakes searching for another meal. He goes to the doors, presses blackened hands to the glass. The tentacles lift and probe along the gap. They can taste more food inside, oblivious, unaware of the beast at their gate. There is a hissing sound, and an onlooker would be hard-pressed to determine if it came from Rasher himself or the maw. He pushes the doors open.

 

Inside the lobby, he pauses, looks around. The fluorescent lights are harsh, painfully bright, and he narrows his eyes against their glare. He lifts his torso so he’s nearly beneath one, contemplates breaking it. He’d be able to see just fine. Impulsively, he smashes it. It spits sparks that land on his skin, bright little burns that fade almost before he can notice them.

 

“What the fuck?!”

 

A bullet wings past him to hit another light, and he turns his head. A third guard is standing in a door behind the security desk, gun upraised and trembling. His eyes are wide; the whites show all around his dark irises. The maw hisses. For a moment, they both merely stand eyeing each other.

 

The guard breaks first, sprinting towards the nearest fire alarm, only feet from the desk. He yanks it hard, triggering a high klaxon throughout the facility. The maw hisses again, as much in annoyance as agitation at the sound. The guard runs back through the door, firing off another wild shot over his shoulder. Rasher immediately gives chase. He doesn’t even bother going around the desk, just crawls over it like an overgrown spider, barrels through the door. The guard, halfway down the hallway on the other side, hears him and turns. He screams.

 

Rasher bounds forward, all six limbs propelling him towards the unfortunate guard. He’s on him before the guard can even consider shooting at him again. The guard screams again, high and shrill, as a tentacle wraps around his wrist and snaps it. The tentacles don’t even bother breaking his bones like the first guard; they just shove him towards the maw, which chews massive chunks off like a shark, swallows the chunks whole into whatever internal dimension the maw leads to. Part of the guard’s uniform falls to the floor, and Rasher sees it’s the Heart company logo. He laughs and shreds it with a clawed hand. Heart made a mistake when they took him and dunked him in the Scar. They can’t control him any better than they can control Julian; less, in fact, since Rasher doesn’t belong to Heart. They might have made him a monster, but they never owned him and never will. He’s Julian’s monster.

 

The maw finishes swallowing the guard and scent-tastes the air again. He starts down the hall. Occasionally he smashes a light just for the sound, for the burn of the sparks against his skin, leaving a trail of flickering fluorescents in his wake. The klaxon is incredibly irritating, but he’s starting to enjoy the ambiance of it. It’s all making him feel like a horror movie monster.

 

For the first time since his return from Heart, he welcomes the feeling.

 

-

 

“Shouldn’t— shouldn’t we… check out the siren?”

 

“Nah, baby, it’s just… just a drill.”

 

“Steve…”

 

“Aw, come on, baby, I’m so close!”

 

Sharon pushes Steve away, his dick sliding out of her. She crosses her arms and legs and glares at him. She knows the effect is not what it should be, since her hair’s a mess and one tit’s hanging out of her bra, but he looks pained nonetheless.

 

“I don’t want to die in this closet!” she snaps. Steve groans.

 

“But if it’s a real alarm we’ll have to leave!” he says.

 

“And then we can just finish later and not die of smoke inhalation or fire!” Sharon says. She pushes him to the door. “Go on, find out what’s happening!”

 

“Will you wait here for me?”

 

“Just _go_ , Steve!”

 

With a long-suffering groan, Steve shoves himself back in his trousers and opens the door a crack. He doesn’t smell smoke or feel any heat, which means either it’s a false alarm or the fire’s farther away. He turns to Sharon.

 

“I don’t see anything,” he says, hope briefly lifting in his heart. The look on her face crushes it as surely as she’d crush a bug under her heel. He sighs, feeling like a kicked puppy, and goes out into the hall, willing his lingering boner back down as he does. He closes the door behind him.

 

The janitor’s closet he and Sharon were fucking in is at the end of a hallway, right at a corner. He can see all the way down either hall, and nothing seems amiss aside from the fire alarm going crazy. But, he realizes, the hallway leading towards the lobby is darker than it should be, one of the lights flickering erratically. He sighs and heads towards it. Maybe there’s an electrical fire somewhere in the building, god knows there’re enough banks of supercomputers in the basement to burn the place to the ground.

 

The hallway is empty of life, but it looks like a massive fight went down. For the first time, Steve’s reluctance to leave the closet has more to do with fear than his bereft boner. There’s blood all over the floor and shattered fluorescents all along the hallway. Steve swallows hard. What the fuck happened? He cautiously goes towards one of the bloodstains, but his nerve fails him before he reaches it. He turns and runs—

 

—Right into writhing tentacles and outstretched clawed hands. His scream is cut off before it starts.

 

Back in the closet, Sharon waits as patiently as she can for Steve, jigging her foot up and down and her arms still crossed. She checks her watch; he’s been gone for far too long. He wouldn’t leave her in the closet if something was really wrong, would he? Steve’s kind of an asshole, but he’s not a total dick, even if he thinks with his more than he should. She looks at her watch.

 

He’s been gone a long time.

 

She huffs and fixes her hair and clothes. She goes out as she’s buttoning her blouse, calls for Steve without looking up from her shirt.

 

“Steve? Where are you?” she asks.

 

She’s about to call again when she hears crunching noises from down the hall. Her fingers slow on her blouse, and she turns. At the far end, where the hallway turns and leads towards the lobby, she can see a shadow, twisted and nonsensical, blinking in and out of existence as the lights flicker. She stares for a moment, fear creeping up her spine.

 

“Steve?” she calls hesitantly. “Steve? Are you down there?”

 

The crunching slows and stops, the shadow going still. The lights flick out, and when they come back on the shadow’s gone. But there’s a spreading puddle of blood on the floor, visible even to Sharon where she stands. She hears, just at the edge of her hearing, a low rumble. She squeaks and ducks back into the closet, fumbles a broom against the door. She doubts it’ll be effective in keeping whatever’s out there at bay, but she feels marginally better for having attempted some kind of defense. She tucks herself into a corner behind a set of shelves. She wonders if she could tip the shelves over if she had to; they’re covered with cleaning supplies and might slow down anything that came in. It might also trap her, she realizes, so she starts hoping just to be overlooked.

 

The light coming from under the door dims and darkens. Something whispers against the door, making a sound like flesh dragging against the painted wood. She hears a kind of snuffling noise, then a scratching. To her horror, something worms under the door. She can’t see it, not well, but she can just see the way it flattens and oozes up like a slug.

 

The door creaks and starts to open. Sharon claps a hand over her mouth, eyes tearing up. The broom catches and stops the door before its more than a foot open, but it’s enough to let in a spill of light and illuminate the questing, snakelike _things_ that appear around the edge of the door, twisting and turning about like inquisitive worms. An involuntary squeak of fear escapes her, muffled by her hands, but it’s enough to make the worms all point in her direction.

 

The door explodes inward, snapping the broom in half and spraying her with splinters. She screams, screams again when she sees the awful thing that comes in and heads right for her.

 

-

 

Down below, five men sit at computers, typing away. The fire alarm has just been shut off by one of the guards, who stuck his head into the lab to tell them it was a false alarm and that he’s going to check it out. One looks up and over at the two empty computers by the door as the guard leaves, then at the other four.

 

“Steve and Sharon have been gone an awful while,” he says.

 

“Who gives a fuck?” one of the other four says.

 

“They do,” says a third, snorting. “They think they’re being so discreet.”

 

“Bet Steve doesn’t know Sharon’s fucking Allen in accounting, too,” says a fourth. He looks at the others over his glasses and grins. “And me.”

 

“Yeah right, John, we know the last time you got your dick wet was in the shower,” says the fifth, “so don’t give us that bullshit.”

 

“Yeah, naming your right hand Sharon doesn’t mean you’re actually fucking the real Sharon,” says the second.

 

John scowls and opens his mouth to argue, but the sound of a gunshot cuts him off. All five fall silent, eyes wide, and turn to the door. Something rumbles at the edge of their hearing, deep and vicious and threatening. There’s a scream, a second gunshot, and then horrible silence.

 

None of the men speak for a moment. Then the first one rises slowly from his seat.

 

“Guys,” he says, “what the actual fuck was that?” He goes towards the door.

 

“Don’t open that!” the third man says, scrambling out of his seat so quickly he knocks it over and positioning himself in front of the door. “Don’t you watch any horror movies? Whoever goes to check out the weird noises gets killed first!”

 

“Yeah, man, those were gunshots!” says the second. “You think there isn’t a damn good reason for them? We’re just a bunch of nerds, what’re we supposed to do? Stay here, man!”

 

The first man opens his mouth, but something slams against the door. All five let out varying yelps and screams, and they all crowd against the far wall. The door rattles with the force of another blow, then a third, and then it breaks down. They scream when they see the beast that ducks through, blood coating its shoulder from a rapidly-healing injury, scream again when its awful human face splits into a wide grin.

 

-

 

The three employees huddled under a table in the break room know something is badly wrong. The fire alarm has stopped, but the lights outside in the hall are flickering on and off in erratic patterns, less someone playing with the switch and more some kind of evident malfunction. They heard the gunshots, the screams from the five men on the computers.

 

“What’s going on?” whispers one. She looks terrified, tears silently falling down her face and streaking her mascara. The other two, both men, frantically hush her. The break room has no door.

 

From down the hall, they hear the sound of a light bulb shattering, then another. The hallway dims, and the three huddle closer together. One of the men’s heads brushes a wad of gum stuck to the underside of the table and it immediately sticks to his hair, but he doesn’t notice. They can hear something coming down the hall, preceded by shattering lights and a scraping against the walls.

 

The thing’s arrival is announced by the ends of wormlike things questing through the air, closely followed by the rest of it: gangling barely-human limbs and jutting bone spurs and tentacles hanging from its belly. One of the men whimpers, and the tentacles all lift and turn in their direction. The light from the break room catches on the thing’s eyes, deep in sunken sockets, as its head turns towards them. Its curved torso straightens, revealing that the tentacles writhe out of a massive maw lined with uneven, jagged teeth, set in a hollowed-out burned-black belly. It advances slowly into the room, head turning from side to side.

 

For an all too brief moment, the three think the thing hasn’t spotted them. The woman even squeezes her eyes shut. Suddenly the table is thrown aside and the thing looms over them. They scream, try to scramble away. The thing seizes the men, one with a clawed hand and the other with the tentacles, but the woman manages to just barely duck its grasping swipe. Even so its claws carve deep rents in her back, and she screams in agony and terror. But she manages to scramble away on her hands and knees, stumbles to her feet and sprints for the door. She looks over her shoulder, sees the thing shoving first one man, then the other at the maw, devouring both like candy. She screams and runs.

 

All she can hear is her own panicked sobbing and the sounds of her footsteps as she sprints down the hallway. She’s running blind, careening off walls and almost tripping a few times. She’s so glad she wore flats today, she never learned how to run in heels and she’s sure she’d have broken an ankle by now if she’d worn heels. She glances behind her once, doesn’t see the thing following her. Maybe she’s escaped it, maybe after devouring the two men (oh god, it _devoured them_ ) it’s sated and doesn’t need to eat her too.

 

Her foot slides in a puddle of blood coming from one of the computer labs and she almost falls in it. She keeps her footing, but barely, glances almost against her will into the room. She screams when she sees the blood spattering every surface, floor and walls and ceiling and computers. She tears her gaze away and starts to run, but this time when her foots slides she does go down, and hard. Her knees hit the floor, hard linoleum over concrete, and send shooting pain up her legs, bruised badly for sure, if her kneecaps aren’t broken. She pulls herself up with the wall and stumbles on. The pain flares in her knees each time she moves, but she doesn’t dare stop. She tries to run and manages valiantly, fear and adrenalin propelling her on and dulling the pain.

 

She makes it to the lobby and sees it’s empty. She sobs with relief as she skids to a halt; maybe she’ll make it out. She can see the door, it’s a straight shot from where she stands gasping for breath. Her legs ache, her knees throb. She starts forward, limping somewhat now.

 

She’s halfway across the lobby when something heavy falls to the ground behind her. She spins, sees the thing coming towards her. There are scrapes in the wall and gouges in the plaster where it had been holding itself in the corner of the wall and ceiling. She screams and tries to run, but her injured knees give out and she goes down. Slimy tentacles wrap around her arm and torso and shoulders, the slime burning in the cuts on her back. She screams as a clawed hand wraps around her throat, screams until it clenches and crushes her windpipe. As she chokes and gasps, a second hand grabs her head. It twists hard and sharp as though trying to twist the cap off a bottle.

 

She’s dead before the teeth close around her ribcage and bite her in half.

 

-

 

Rasher goes through the building after eating the woman in the lobby, but it seems there’s no one left. Certainly the maw doesn’t taste the presence of more food. But it’s perfectly satisfied with the fourteen people it’s consumed, the most it’s eaten in one go since the disastrous finale of the third season. It gives a rumbling purr and pulls the tentacles back in. Rasher feels his spine start to shrink.

 

He’s starting to feel lethargic, his movements slowing as he heads for the lobby. The mutations triggered by the maw are vanishing; his torso is shrinking, the extra arms receding back towards his body, the bone spurs retreating. By the time he’s returned to the lobby, he’s back to what passes for normal for him; the stretch marks on his lower back, sides, and upper arms are the only sign of the transformations. Even those will fade with time. He’s abominably tired and, hilariously, feels over-full, as if the maw actually ate too much. He never expected that he’d ever reach that point, given how hungry the maw gets, but evidently he has. Maybe it’s just unused to how much it ate.

 

The thought of the sheer amount of meat he can shove into the maw still unsettles him. Where does it go? Certainly not into Rasher’s system, not much of it anyway; he’s as skinny as he ever was, if not skinnier; the maw’s carved him into something whip-thin and bony, left him all angles and sharp edges. He thought he read somewhere that the human body contains over a hundred thousand calories. Wherever the meat goes after the maw eats it, few if any of those calories seem to be making it to him. Still, he must be getting some of them somehow, since he’s hardly needed to eat like a normal person since the maw took up residence in his belly. He still does, still can, but it’s more a matter of doing it just because he wants to, not because he needs to.

 

He very deliberately pulls his mind from thoughts about the maw and its effect on his body. He might be gradually coming to accept the thing, but thinking about it still scares him too much for deep contemplation. If he thinks too hard about it, he thinks he might start screaming and never stop. Right now, the best he can think of it is as a tool, like a knife or an ax. Eventually it’ll be part of him, and he thinks maybe if he and Julian continue these raids he might reach that point sooner. The more he chooses to make use of it, the more he’ll become accustomed to it, he thinks. He knows he can’t ignore it again and pretend everything’s normal; the maw won’t tolerate being ignored. The harder he rejects it the more it’ll fuss, and the more it fusses the more dangerous it becomes for those around him. He doesn’t want to eat Julian again.

 

But he’s still a ways from accepting it fully.

 

Julian had said he’d come to fetch him by sunrise, but it’s still dark outside and Rasher figures Julian won’t be early. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since the first guard. He settles into the security guard’s chair behind the desk; it’s not entirely comfortable, but it’s better than sitting on the floor. He puts his feet on the desk and tips his head back. Hopefully he has time for a little sleep before Julian shows up. He closes his eyes.

 

He’s asleep in seconds.

 

-

 

Dawn is pinking the horizon as Julian heads down the hill towards the research facility. There’s blood everywhere, splattered around and on the door, but no flesh. He didn’t expect any, the maw is very thorough. He uses the end of his cane to push the door open. The lobby reeks of blood, a large amount of which is spattered near a door opposite the security guard’s desk. He spies Rasher, fast asleep in the chair behind the desk with his head tipped back at an uncomfortable angle. Julian goes over and smiles indulgently down at him; seeing him sleeping off a rampage has a vastly different connotation when Julian isn’t one of his victims. He nudges his foot with his cane, then prods his side when that fails to yield a response. Rasher grumbles and stirs. He stretches and arches his back in a way that makes it pop all the way down, from his shoulders to his pelvis. He lowers his head with a wince as his neck pops, then opens his eyes to see Julian standing beside him.

 

“Morning,” he says, voice hoarse.

 

“Good morning,” Julian replies. “Did you have fun?”

 

“Dunno about fun, but it was satisfying.” Rasher yawns and rubs the back of his neck. “Weren’t many here, maybe ten or twelve researchers and four guards.” He links his hands behind his head. “Got ‘em all.”

 

“Well done.” Julian offers him a hand, and Rasher takes it to haul himself out of the chair. Julian pulls him down by his goatee for a kiss, which Rasher half-purrs at. He rests his hands on Julian’s waist. They keep it languid, Rasher lacking the will to take it further. He’s still tired; once they return to the race he’ll probably go back to sleep. A tentacle worms out of the maw and flops itself lengthwise along Julian’s torso, but Rasher lifts it off and pushes it back towards the maw. It goes reluctantly. After a long few minutes Julian backs away, taps Rasher’s shoulder to get him to turn. When he does, Julian sees a new scar on his shoulder, round and puckered, clearly a bullet wound. Impulsively he kisses it. “Are there any cameras around here?” He pulls Rasher’s corset from his belt and the cord from his belt-pouch. He wraps the corset around him, and while Rasher holds it in place he begins to do up the lacing. If he lets his fingers brush Rasher’s skin more than is necessary, neither remarks on it.

 

Rasher frowns slightly. “No,” he says after a moment. “I didn’t see any.” He looks around the lobby as if expecting one to have spontaneously appeared. “Heart usually doesn’t leave their employees unmonitored, do they?” He looks over his shoulder at Julian.

 

“No, they don’t.” Julian’s slightly disappointed, though he knows it’s for the best, at least right now. Heart will know someone attacked them, and they might well guess it was Julian, but there’s no proof it was him, and since Rasher ate everyone there’re no witnesses either. But still, the lack of cameras is unusual. What were they doing here? It wasn’t a set-up, was it? Unease taints his sense of triumph. He finishes the lacing and takes Rasher’s hand. “Let’s get back to the race, something isn’t right around here.” They head towards the door. “Could you tell at all what they were doing here?”

 

“Uh…” Rasher thinks. His memories of the previous night are somewhat blurred and murky, colored by the maw’s demands and hunger, clouded by fatigue. “Something with computers. Can’t tell you more than that.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

Julian is surprisingly quiet as they leave the lab, as they head back up the hill. Suzie waits on the other side. The rising sun is limning her feathers in bright gold and copper, making their orange blaze. Rasher thinks she’s asleep, but she opens her eyes as they approach. She gets to her feet. Once Rasher’s within range, she lowers her head and sniffs him. She eyes him, as if his smell is different enough for her to notice but not enough to alarm her, and snorts. Then she turns her head to Julian and licks him. He cries out in disgust.

 

“Dammit!” Julian swipes ineffectually at the slobber on his waistcoat. “I have got to get Tembo to try to train her out of that!”

 

Rasher only laughs at him. He hopes Julian won’t make him ride pillion, he’s too tired to hang on properly and Suzie’s gait is uneven enough that he’d just fall off her back after a few steps. Julian seems aware of this, because once he climbs astride Suzie he hauls Rasher up to sit in front of him. Rasher leans back against him, enjoying the warmth of him; his body aches just enough to be unpleasant, like he’s strained most of the muscles in his body. Once he can stay conscious for more than an hour at a time, he’s going to take a long, very hot shower. At a nudge from Julian, Suzie turns and heads back towards camp.

 

Julian looks over his shoulder. The hill hides the facility from view. He purses his lips. Something isn’t right, and he can only pray it won’t come back to bite him in the ass later. That facility was far too quiet. Heart would never let any of their employees go completely unmonitored. No facility is too small-time to be immune from Heart’s paranoia.

 

He sighs and turns back around. Too late for regret now; the employees there were all devoured by the man dozing against him. There’s no one to interrogate. Whatever the facility was doing will have to remain a mystery.

 

Julian hates mysteries.


End file.
